


Cherry Bomb

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: What happens when Bill and Teddon'tgo on an excellent adventure through history? What happens when they do not, in fact, trust the weird guy who falls out of the sky in a telephone booth and knows their names even though they've never met him before? What happens when they have to figure out how to pass history and stay together without the help of strange futuristic technology and the most atypical cooperation of one, Billy the Kid?
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan & Bill S. Preston Esq., Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Cherry Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second B&T piece I've written but the first that I feel kind of confident posting. Please forgive any weakness in my handle on the narrative vibe. 
> 
> I would like to thank Ted "Theodore" Logan and Bill S. Preston, Esquire for pretty literally saving my life over the course of the last few weeks. I've fallen down this rabbit hole and I don't think I want help getting out.

“Okay,” Ted says as he sits back down on the curb. “The lady in that car over there said that Marco Polo was in the year twelve-seventy-five.” He punctuates his findings with little jabs of his plastic spoon.

“So it’s _not_ just a watersport, I _knew_ it.” He bends over his books again to jot down the fact before he loses it.

“Excuse me!” Ted catches the attention of a woman walking by. “When did the Mongols rule China?” 

Bill doesn’t hear her answer while he’s scanning the page of his history book searching for something more to say about Marco Polo. It must not be very useful because Ted suggests they head to the Thriftymart. They’ve had decent luck here, but it is getting late. It can’t hurt to change locations and someone from inside has already come out once to tell them not to loiter. It’s chilly too, Bill thinks. And the Thrifty has that little space inside the door they could sit instead of on the ground. There’s usually some most esteemed elder waiting on the bench with their packages, waiting to be picked up.

Bill gathers his books and shoves them into Ted’s backpack and when he looks up Ted has his face buried in his hands. “Dude, are you okay?”

The breeze picks up around them and trash blows across the parking lot. Someone’s old receipt stick’s to Ted’s shin and Bill flicks it away. Ted’s whole body shakes and he sucks in a deep breath.

“Bill, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Thriftymart isn’t that far, man.”

Ted shakes his head, his hair flopping back and forth. “That’s not what I mean -- _I mean_ \-- I don’t know if I can do this history thing.” He looks up and his face is flushed red and his eyes shine. “Bill, I’m not smart.”

“Says who?” Bill can’t help the twist of anger in his stomach. He deflates again when he sees the sad kind of hopeful look Ted is giving him. “We can do this, my friend.” He puffs his chest out and stands, offering Ted a hand. “My most esteemed colleague, we are gonna get through this. Together.” Ted takes his hand and pulls himself up.

“But what if we don’t pass, Bill?” His chin quivers and he sucks in a breath hard enough to make himself burp. “I know… I know here -- with my dad -- I know it’s bogus. But, I don’t want to go to Alaska.”

Bill isn’t sure what to say but something in his chest twists like a corkscrew through a bottle of the cheap wine Missy buys for Sunday night dinners. “We’ll go back to my house,” he decides. “We’ll stay up all night if we have to. I still have that set of encyclopedias Granny S Preston, Esquire sent me for my birthday.”

“Wasn’t that like your tenth birthday, dude?”

Bill shrugs. “History doesn’t change.”

“Good point! _Whoah!_ ”

Lightning cracks across the sky overhead and the pair of them duck. It’s so loud it echoes against everything in the parking lot and makes Bill’s teeth clack together. They jump backward, tripping and stumbling as another bolt of lightning breaks sky and shoots down toward the ground. Ted looks bewildered when he gets himself to his feet and shoves his hands under Bill’s arms to haul him up too.

“Are you okay, dude?” Bill nods, unable to make his mouth work. “That was most dangerous.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.”

“Greetings, my excellent friends!” 

They turn toward the sound and Bill is pretty damn sure that there wasn’t a phone booth in the middle of the parking lot before. The guy that’s trying to get their attention looks like a flasher -- somebody who tries to yank you into the back of a van. Bill and Ted watch enough _Unsolved Mysteries_ to stay well enough away. Linked by Ted’s open backpack, they step back, wary.

“Do you know when the Mongols ruled China?” Ted asks. His voice cracks with his nerves in a most non-valorous tone, even if the way he angles himself between Bill and this creep is _most_ valorous.

“Well, perhaps we could ask them.” Ted glances toward Bill as they edge backward. “Bill S Preston, _Esquire_ and Ted _Theodore_ Logan.” Panic makes sweat start to prickle on the back of Bill’s neck. “Gentlemen, I’m here to help you with your history report.”

“What?” Ted asks in disbelief.

“How?” Bill chimes in, tugging at the backpack in the hopes of getting Ted to move back just a little more. The weirdo turns toward the sound and the light of another clash of lightning right overhead and they bolt, pounding the pavement as fast as they can. They don’t stop until they are blocks away and Bill’s legs are on fire from trying to keep up with Ted’s long, loping strides.

Ted braces his hands against his knees, breathing heavily. “Bill, my friend, strange things are afoot at the Circle K.”

“Come on, dude, let’s motor. I don’t want to wait around for that weirdo.”

“How do you think he knew our names?” Bill is at a loss for answers. He just shrugs and steers their quick walk in the direction of his house.

***

Back at Bill’s bedroom they make a list of all the historical figures they think sound the most interesting. Ted, in the most non heinous idea he’s had all day, suggests that they might include some of the points they _majorly_ failed on during the last week. It’ll show Mr. Ryan that they mean business, Ted thinks, that they’ve taken the initiative to learn.

Ted sits cross-legged on the trampoline at the end of the bed and Bill sits at the headboard. Their textbooks and encyclopedias are spread out between them. Bill even found a few biographies on the dusty bookshelf in the den that look promising.

“Alright,” Ted starts, holding his notebook up like he’s going to read a proclamation. “We’ve got Billy the Kid, Abraham Lincoln, Joan of Arc -- who is _not_ Noah’s wife -- and Actual Noah’s Wife, who doesn’t have a name.” 

Both Bill and Ted had bent over the beat up paperback Bible Bill’s had since second grade, even though he can’t really remember ever going to church. They think she might be a good extra credit point, but they’ll have to think pretty hard about what she might say about San Dimas, given the whole deal with watching the world get dunked underwater.

“How about _So-crates_ ?” Bill wonders. “Or maybe _Loo-sip-eye-us_. He was, like, a really old Greek science guy.”

“Excellent!”

They pour over the books for hours taking notes until they think they’re ready to really write. Bill thinks if they type it, that it will help them feel more serious -- and if they feel more serious, then their report will sound better. Bill leaves Ted deciding which of the historical figures that they’ve compiled he would like to use for his report and lopes down the stairs to ask his dad if they can use the typewriter. He finds his dad in the den making a face at the folded up newspaper on his knee, chewing on the end of a pen.

“Bill, do you know a four letter word for what a wolf in sheep’s clothing has?”

He considers it for a moment, counting letters on his fingers. “Wool?”

“Huh, I think that’s right.” He scribbles it into the boxes. “Nice one. What’s up?”

“Can Ted and I use the typewriter? We want to be most official in the submission of our history report.” He gets the okay and starts to haul the heavy case off of the bookcase, cringing when he sets it down just a little too hard near the doorway.

“Hey, Bill?” 

His dad has that tone he gets when he wants to talk about something serious like smoking or condoms and Bill really isn’t interested in either -- smoking is _heinous_ and he really could live without sex -- anything more than a handy really feels most odious _and_ \-- 

“Bill?”

“Yeah? Sorry, Dad.”

“I wanted to apologize, for earlier, when I sort of… kicked you out of your own room.” Bill cringes, he doesn’t want to discuss this either. “I’ve been selfish, with Missy, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Bill shrugs and considers it for a moment. “It’s okay, Dad. I get it.” He snickers and waggles his eyebrow. “She’s a babe -- and your wife. It’s not like you hijacked my room with some random chick.”

“But it’s _not_ okay, Bill. I’ve been so caught up in, well, everything, that I completely missed that you were failing History.” He scrubs at his face and sighs. “You’re not failing anything else, right?” Bill has to think about it for a moment before he shakes his head. He’s not an A-student but he’s not in eminent danger anywhere else. “I keep forgetting _you’re_ the kid here. Do you need help with that?” He gestures at the typewriter case at Bill’s feet.

“Nah, dude, I got it covered.” He shoots his dad a thumbs up and starts to haul the case up off the floor again and stops. Here’s his dad, apologizing for making Bill feel weird about him having bagged a babe and asking if he needs help and feeling bad in most general terms about slacking on the parent stuff as of late -- and across town there's Captain Logan buying Ted a one way ticket to the arctic. “Hey dad, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything but Tudor England, I never really understood how all of the Henry’s and the roses and all those wives went together.”

Bill is confused for a moment and shakes his head. “It’s not about the history report.”

“Sounds serious.” There’s an awkward moment of silence where Bill regrets opening his mouth. The notion had come to him so suddenly and now that he was about to speak it out loud into the universe it felt stupid. “Bill I’m gonna worry until you tell me, so shoot.”

Bill stays near the doorway so he can bolt if it gets too weird. “How hard is it to adopt somebody?”

His dad seems bewildered by the question. “I imagine there’s things like background checks and interviews, but I don’t think it’s _too_ difficult. Probably? I’ve never thought about it.” He laughs and says he doesn’t think Missy wants kids anyway.

“No, no. Not… not a kid exactly. I guess a kid? Sort of?”

“Do you think that Missy is going to adopt _you_?” Bill feels his face heat up, he knows he’s gone about as red as a tomato. “I’d think you’d feel a little awkward about that.”

“I mean -- what I _mean_ is -- can someone who already turned eighteen be adopted?”

“I don’t know if that’s a thing. Maybe? You’re only seventeen, pal. You failing history so bad you forgot your own?”

Bill knows his dad is only trying to be funny while he figures out what the _heck_ Bill is getting on about but it’s making his anxiousness over having brought it up at all even worse. “Dad! Can you adopt Ted?” He spits it all out so fast it sounds like one long word.

“What?”

“Can you adopt Ted? Would that be hard? Like, he’s eighteen, right? So he doesn’t need his dad’s permission or anything like that. He has his own permission.”

“Bill, I don’t think that -- “

“If he can vote and go to war he should be able to say who’s his dad, right?”

“Bill where is this coming from?”

“Dad, dude, you’re a pretty okay parental figure. Right?”

“Thanks?”

“Well Captain Logan… Captain Logan is a _dickweed_ .” Bill’s dad chokes and coughs in his attempt not to laugh. “If Ted doesn’t pass history, he’s sending him to military school in _Alaska_ , Dad. Alaska! Alaskan _military_ school!” Bill feels himself get a little hysterical. “Because of one class!”

“Bill, I think -- “

“But it’s _not_ just one class, Dad, the whole thing is _bogus_ ,” he spits it out like it’s the dirtiest word he knows. “Captain Logan’s always trying to make Ted be someone he’s not -- be like him. And who’d wanna be like him? He’s bald and divorced and no one likes him!” Bill’s breathing _way_ heavy now, like when he actually tries in gym class.

“Bill, I don’t think Ted is going to get sent to Alaskan military school for failing history. He can go to summer school -- it’ll be fine.”

“Dad, I don’t think -- “

“Bill -- “

“I know this situation is _most_ atypical --”

“Bill, _Bill_ , take a deep breath. You’ve got a report to write. You’ve gotta focus on the things you _can_ fix and right now that’s whether or not you fail.” Bill sucks in a stuttering, halting breath and lifts the hem of his sweatshirt to wipe his face off with it. “Finish the report, get some sleep. We’ll talk when you’ve got less that needs attention.”

“Okay,” Bill croaks. He hauls the typewriter up into his arms and trudges up the stairs with it.

Ted is sitting cross-legged on the bed when Bill gets back up to his bedroom. The tip of his tongue is sticking out and his eyebrows are smashed so close together it looks like there’s only one of them. Unusually, his hair isn’t hanging over his forehead. Not even just flicked away with a shake of his head -- truly pulled back, tied into a spiky little ponytail right at the back of his head. Ted is _focused_ with his notebook covered in bullet-points and his free hand carefully moving an index card down the page of the encyclopedia opened up in front of him line-by-line.

“Excellent! You got the typewriter!”

“Ah, yeah -- _yeah_ \--” Bill hauls it over to his desk and pushes the miscellaneous debris of a year of half-assed homework off to the side. “Dad said it was fine.”

“My friend, you seem distressed.”

“What?” Bill catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection off a framed poster. “Oh, dude, I totally smashed my hand on the railing with this thing coming up the stairs.”

“Should I go get you some ice?” Ted pops up off the bed and snatches Bill’s hands to examine them.

“Nah, dude, I’m totally fine -- look!” He opens the lid of the typewriter case and pretends to type. “See? Okay, so we’ll do your bit first.” He leans down to find some blank paper in the bottom of the drawer and wind it into the machine. He pauses for a moment, making sure the ribbon is good and everything is set to go. “You dictate. I’ll be your secretary. Then we can switch.”

“Perfect, dude, perfect.” Ted sits back down on the edge of the bed and flips through his notes to the start. “You always have such great ideas.” His face turns serious. “Except for when it is most ideal to get Van Halen for the band.” He laughs when the crumpled math worksheet Bill throws at him nails him in the face.

Bill hunts and pecks at the keys, pounding out the words as Ted reads them from his notes. He pauses sometimes, listening to the whole of Ted’s trivia before he types. _Maybe it would be better if you say it this way instead?_ Ted is smarter than he believes he is and Bill wants Mr. Ryan to know it when he reads his report in front of the whole senior class tomorrow. He thinks maybe Mr. Ryan maybe _does_ already know it. Maybe that’s why he’s giving the pair of them this chance to redeem themselves, why he was most insistent in his instructions to them after class -- he knows they _can_ pass, even if it’s by the skin of their teeth, and he wants them to know it too.

Bill’s head is starting to hurt by the time they finish reading and typing Ted’s report. “I wish we could do this together,” he sighs.

“Mm, two heads are better than one, my friend.”

“Right? We should have asked. At least I’d be less nervous if it was both of us up there.”

“We are a most excellent team.”

Bill stands, the papers covered in his typing and Ted’s words clutched in his hand as he flings it out. “It would be a most- _most_ triumphant demonstration of academic achievement as performed by the Wyld Stallyns!” They laugh, riffing on invisible instruments, and trade places so that Bill can dictate while Ted types.

It’s well past one in the morning by the time they finish. They’ve proofread their papers so many times they’ve basically committed the text to memory. Ted follows Bill down the stairs to the den, hauling the typewriter in its case with him and plunking it down on the shelf where it usually lives. They toss the cushions off the couch and push the little coffee table out of the way so they can open up the pull-out for Ted to spend the night on. Bill grabs two neat, crisp pillows from the closet and chucks them at Ted before he grabs the old crochet blanket from the cedar box in the bottom.

“Bill?” Ted starts, his expression incredibly serious. He starts to pull the little ponytail out of his hair, hissing as the rubber band he used to tie it up catches on the strands and yanks them. “Thanks for letting me sleep over.”

Bill thinks there’s something else he wanted to say, but doesn’t push it. They’re both too tired and too wired for any of it. “No problem, Ted.” 

Bill leaves Ted kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his layers of pants in a silly, sleepy kind of dance and heads back up the stairs to clear off his bed and try to grab some sleep for himself.

It’s just after three o’clock when Bill rolls over and squints at the face of the clock on his bedside. He tries and fails to get comfortable again. There’s just too much looming in the dark, pressing in on him. He’s going to fail. He won’t graduate. He’ll have to go to summer school. Ted will be gone. They’ll never really start their band. _Ted will be gone_ . It hasn’t even happened yet, not for real, not officially; but, Bill still feels like a hole has been punched straight through his chest. He’s never, _never_ been without Ted. It’ll be like someone’s come along with a hatchet -- some B-movie, Halloween slasher -- and just stolen a whole limb off of his body. He wonders, there in the darkness, the little nightlight near the door doing nothing to comfort him, if he will feel some kind of phantom pain.

And what will happen to Ted?

Bill’s stomach clenches at the thought of Ted being shouted at by some flattop, being told he’s not enough. Ted is so _kind_ and so _nice_. He’s so… full of joy. Such a soft-spoken man of few words. Bill is sick at the notion of all of those things being drill-seargented out of him.

 _They’ll make him cut his hair_.

He kicks the covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Three in the morning is a _most_ inauspcious time to be mulling over the worst things that he can think of. His stomach is in knots and his heart is racing but the house all around him is quiet. He pads out of his room and down the stairs, half leaping over the squeaky board at the bottom, and slips into the kitchen where he stands in front of the open fridge staring into it unseeingly. He shakes himself out of the fridge-trance and scans the kitchen in the low illumination from the light over the stove. Cringing at every little sound he makes, he fills a saucepan with water and sets it to boil -- occupying himself by spinning the battered box of _Sleepytime_ on the counter since a watched pot won’t.

Bill hisses as he gulps the piping hot tea, trying to speed himself into relaxation. It’s tasteless, like licking a wet tree. He’s not really sure how it’s supposed to lull him into sleep. He feels warm, _warmed_ , at the very least, with the hot water sitting in his belly. Maybe that was the whole schtick, just making you feel warm. With his mug empty he talks himself into feeling like maybe his eyes are getting heavy and drags himself back toward the stairs. He pauses at the bottom listening to the house creak and there’s an odd noise he can’t quite place.

Bill creeps toward the front door and grabs the umbrella from the stand and then toward the back of the house again, straining to hear clearly in the suddenly loud silence. He’s embarrassed when he realizes what it is, closing in on the den. It’s dark, but after tiptoeing in the darkness for so long, Bill can make out the lumpy shape of Ted’s body on the pull-out. His ears finally tune properly and locate the lump of blanket and boy as the source of the gasping, gulping sounds he’d followed. He hooks the umbrella on the closet doorknob and eases across the room.

Ted tenses when Bill sits. He gurgles and chokes, trying to be quiet. With his back to Ted, Bill reaches out, patting him through the blanket in the dark.

“That’s my butt, dude,” Ted whispers and sucks back snot.

“Apologies.”

“S’okay.” Ted relaxes when Bill takes his hand away and turns over, jostling the mattress. “Bill?”

“Yes, Ted?”

“What if it’s not enough?” He sniffs again and Bill can feel him trembling. Bill turns and bends down and rests his forehead against the side of Ted’s head, breathing against his hair. “I don’t want --”

“I’m not gonna let it happen.”

Ted sniffs hard and his fingers find Bill’s hooking around them for just a moment before he turns away.

***

Bill feels like he’s slept on a mattress made of old screws and concrete when he wakes. His back is killing him and his head is throbbing like it does when he forces himself to stay awake on New Years and he really just wants to hit the hay at a normal hour. He smacks at the clock until it falls over and rolls under the bed, still wheezing out its annoying little alarm. Reality creeps in with the watery, pinkish light through the window -- today’s the day, the one that decides everything.

When he stumbles into the bathroom it’s already steamy and warm and his toothbrush is wet. He grimaces -- he doesn’t mind it, he just wishes he’d been asked. The shower does little for the twists in his back but he still tries his best to look put together when he pulls clothes out of his dresser. Nice clean jeans he hasn’t drawn on yet, a shirt that it’s too over-sized. Mr. Ryan will surely know that he means business.

Tromping down the stairs, he wonders if his dad will give him and Ted a ride over to Ted’s house so he can put some clean clothes on before they head to school. He’s surprised to see Ted in the kitchen with his hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice, already dressed in Bill’s clothes. He breathes in deeply and leans down into the fridge so he doesn’t have to see the way the too-short jeans are cuffed up over the top of Ted’s Chucks to hide the length.

“I hope it’s okay, dude. Borrowing your clothes, I mean.”

“Of course, Ted. Why wouldn’t it be? Mi ropa is -- _ah_ \-- your… ropas.” Bill was only doing better in Spanish than History by a slim margin. “You look good, dude.”

“Yeah?” Ted flicks his hair out of his face. It doesn’t go very far because it’s damp.

“Yeah.”

“I would have just stopped home on the way to school but I think seeing my dad right now would be most odious.”

Bill nods in agreement and turns to look when his dad and Missy come laughing into the kitchen. “Come _on_ ,” she says. “I’m making waffles! I know they’re your favorite.” She gestures toward the very _well done_ pile of them beside the cold iron. “No business talk before breakfast, now, come on!”

Bill’s dad lets himself be pulled over to the table and pushed down into a seat. He makes a face when Missy turns to grab the plate and put it in front of him, seeming to pretend that it’s not there when he casts his attention on Bill and Ted.

“Bill, are you still interested in that van?” Bill looks to Ted who nods enthusiastically. “The guy called real early. He’s heading up to Big Sur for the summer so if you want it, you have to pick it up today.”

“Would you drive us over there after school?” Bill calculates the money he’s got stashed in his room with what he thinks is in the savings account he opened when he was ten. He’s pretty sure there’s enough. His dad is cool with that, happy to chauffeur, even. Bill watches Ted lift a syrup-soaked bit of waffle to his mouth and cringes at the heinous crunch when he bites into it. Missy is beaming. “Hey, Dad, would you actually mind giving us a ride _to_ school? I was hoping if we got there early they might let us into the auditorium to practice.”

“ _Oh_ , excellent idea, my friend!”

“Sure,” his dad nods and stands, the plate of waffles totally untouched in front of him. “You guys are really taking this seriously.”

“It is a most serious matter, Mr. Preston,” Ted says.

“I’ve, ah, I’ve heard. I think you guys are gonna do great.” Ted shoots Bill a worried look. “You two ready then?” He stands and pulls Missy in to plant a kiss on her cheek and scoots away again before she can say anything about him not eating breakfast. “Gotta leave myself enough time to get to the office!”

“Thank you for the waffles, Mrs. Preston.” Ted turns the full force of his sunny smile on Missy and she giggles in a tone that Bill thinks is supposed to be attractive but just kind of sound pretentious.

“Yeah, thanks Missy --” She casts him a dark look, the giggle dying on her lips. “I mean, _Mom_.” Bill’s dad halts in the hall and makes a face, shaking his head as he grabs his keys from the bowl by the door.

Bill’s dad drives out of his way, swinging through the McDonald’s drive-through and the Egg McMuffins and hashbrowns are a welcome start to what’s going to be an incredibly long day. “What’s up with calling Missy _mom_?” he asks as he turns back toward town. “That was incredibly awkward.”

“Well, she prefers it, Daderino.”

“I sometimes get nervous and just call her that, too.” Ted adds, mouth half full. “She can be most intimidating, Mr. Preston.”

He frowns into the rear-view mirror at the pair of them in the back seat. “You don’t have to do that. She’s not your mom.”

“But she --”

“No, really, Bill. It’s just weird.”

Bill laughs, nervous energy rushing out of him with it. “Thanks, dude.”

In front of the school, Bill and Ted hesitate for a moment before they get out of the car. They have to, though, it’s now or never. The whole day is full of final assignments, everything blocked out for giving reports and taking oral exams. Suddenly, Bill realizes that he hasn’t really prepared for anything else. The only class he’s sure he’s got an A in the bag for is art -- and it’s more because the teacher likes his enthusiasm than for really being talented, at least he thinks. And _Ted_ … well, Ted had his own set of hurdles to jump over before they were scheduled to give their History report during last period.

“William! Theodore!” They both halt, a chill crawling up their backs at the sound of their proper names. They turn back toward the car where Bill’s dad is leaning across the passenger’s seat to be heard out the window. “Last period, right?” They nod. “Good luck, boys.”

“Thanks Mr. Preston!” Ted waves, his disposition impossibly cheery, and tugs Bill back into motion.

Mr. Ryan is happy to see them and happier to give them permission to use the auditorium. He’s in there too, doing sound check and getting the projector set up for anyone who wants to use it with the AV Club. Butterflies swarm in Bill’s stomach, he’d hoped that they could practice alone, really iron out any problems before anyone else heard them. He wants Mr. Ryan to hear only the final, absolutely _most_ triumphant version.

Bill wants those A-pluses and then some.

Bill wants to spend just a few more minutes with Ted before they learn their fate.

“Go ahead, Bill!” Ted is standing on the edge of the stage, out of the way of the kid in the coke-bottle glasses trying to figure out why the microphone is letting out ear-splitting feedback every time they turn it on.

“What?”

“Announce me!”

“Oh! Yeah!” From his seat in the first row, Bill clears his throat and does his best to project across the dead space of the auditorium. “And _now_ , in his most glorious of finale performances, co-founder, co-lead-singer, and co-lead-guitarist… _Ted! Theodore! Logan!_ ” He cups his hands around his mouth and makes a sound like a crowd cheering while Ted bows in a grand gesture up on the stage.

“Thank you for that most gracious introduction.” He bends down and fishes in his backpack for the crisp, typed pages they’d completed last night. They’re not so crisp anymore, curled into a cylinder and shoved into the side of the bag. There’s a clinking sound as sets the bag upright again, tins of chocolate pudding he seems to always have on hand shifting around in the bottom. Ted clears his throat and Bill leans forward, listening with anticipation. “Imagine for a moment, the _TARDIS_ is real and the Doctor has brought a most fantastic menagerie of historical significance to the outstanding modern oasis of San Dimas, California.” The drama mounts in his delivery as he continues. “First out of the big, blue telephone booth is none other than Socrates.” Ted winks at Bill, having finally gotten the damn name _right._ “He’s stunned for a moment by the box-like structure of City Hall and most intrigued by the bright lights of the Circle K across the street.”

Bill’s chest fills with something dense as the stuffing in a cheap teddy bear from the carnival. They might really stand a chance.

***

Bill watches from the wings while Ted gives his report. He’d been late, the art teacher stalling as they finished his critique. He really had a knack for lettering, he could have a future in graphic design, he _really_ should think about it… It had been fine until he watched 2:45 tick by on the clock. _Please_ , he’d finally pleaded, if he didn’t get to the auditorium immediately he was going to flunk! It was _most_ imperative that he got a move on.

Armed with a hall pass scribbled over with a marker that bled so far into the paper that the teacher’s initials were completely obscured, Bill had jogged through the halls and slipped into the back of the auditorium totally out of breath. Mr. Ryan had rolled his eyes as the hall pass when Bill explained where he had been and he was waved forward to wait his turn back stage.

Now, Ted is on a roll. He is going to pass. He _has_ to pass. There’s no way Mr. Ryan would give him anything less than that A-plus. Bill peeks out from behind the curtain and watches the senior class crowded into the seats. They look entertained, not bored the way one might expect a massive group of teenagers to be while listening to school reports on historical figures. There’s a babe in the second row looking at Ted like he’s reading some brilliant piece of epic poetry directly to her. Bill frowns and ducks back behind the curtain. Ted is doing fine, Bill should take the moment to review his own notes one more time before it’s his turn at the podium.

There’s a pause and then applause and Bill’s stomach flip-flops. _Yes_. Perfect. There’s just no way Alaska is still on the table.

“And our last report of the day,” Mr. Ryan says over the microphone from the back of the room. “Is Bill Preston.”

Bill slips out from the wing and waves as he walks across the stage. His cheeks get hot when someone whistles at an ear-splitting decibel and claps -- and there’s Ted, on the end of the front row, smiling so widely Bill is surprised his face doesn’t just shatter.

Bill clears his throat and steps up to the podium. “Thanks, Mr. Ryan. It is an honor to be the closing act of this most diverting show.”

Mr. Ryan laughs softly. “Whenever you’re ready, Bill.”

Bill’s heart hammers against his ribs. He draws in a shaking breath -- and starts.

“...while Fray Angel and Frey Pedro might be quite non-pleased to see the indulgent culture of California as a whole -- as compared to the cultivated poverty and simplicity of the Franciscan lifestyle that the mission was founded in -- I think that they would be most impressed with the state of the citrus industry that the Franciscans ultimately started and that made San Dimas the place to be after the railroad come through in the eighteen-eighties. They would be happy that the people of San Dimas found success in jobs that included packing  _ gen-u-ine _ California oranges, making marmalade, and giving birth to the  _ Sunkist _ brand that would sweep the nation.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Florida, who?” A low sound of amusement rumbles through the audience. “It is that most  _ sunny _ and  _ sweet  _ succor that is the proud spirit of San Dimas that continues to make our city thrive.”

Bill finishes with one triumphant hand in the air and the other earnestly over his heart. He feels his face tug into a smile to cover the panic that’s making him sweat -- a fat bead of it rolling down the middle of his back and down into the elastic waist of his shorts. He searches the back of the auditorium for Mr. Ryan’s shape, everything blurred by anxiety and the bright lamp at the table that the staff of the History department is sitting at.

“Thank you, Bill, that was great.” Shaking, Bill hops down off of the stage and sits in the first empty seat he sees before he falls over. “And that concludes our program for the day, everybody. We’ll have grades posted by the end of the week. Please don’t all rush toward the door at once, we don’t want anyone trampled before graduation.”

Bill sits, dazed, while the rest of the class makes a run for the doors. He’s shaken out of it by Ted throwing himself down into the newly vacated seat beside him and very literally shaking him. “ _ Dude! _ Dude! That was totally awesome! You nailed it!”

The feeling starts to come back into his face and Bill grins. “No, my most excellent friend,  _ you _ nailed it. That was a  _ most _ resplendent delivery.” They twist around in their seats searching the back of the room. “Do you think we should catch up with Mr. Ryan?”

Ted nods, suddenly very sober. They make their way to the last row and wait for it to clear so they can make the slow shimmy down between the seats to where the staff table is set up.

“So, Mr. Ryan -- our most  _ esteemed _ educator -- what’s the verdict?”

Mr. Ryan is smiling but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. It feels fake. “You did…  _ most excellent _ work, gentlemen. The best I’ve seen from either of you all year. You did solid research and made good, logical arguments. You were entertaining.”

“But did we pass?”

“This report? Yeah, you did. B-pluses for both of you.”

“But -- but, Mr.  _ Ryan _ . You said we both needed A-pluses not to flunk.” Bill tries desperately to temper his tone.

“Mr. Ryan, I need to pass.”

“And that’s what summer school is for, gentlemen. It’s really not that big a deal. It’s a couple of weeks, a final exam, and then you’re golden! I have absolutely no doubt that both of you will make passing grades then. And I’ve already clarified it with the administration -- you’ll still be allowed to participate in Commencement. You’ll get to have your names announced and you’ll walk across the stage with all of your classmates. They’re fake diplomas anyway, real ones don’t come back from the printer until July at the earliest. No one will be any wiser, if that’s your concern, and by the time you finish up with History, you’ll be picking up your diplomas at the same time as everyone else is.”

“But, Mr. Ryan, if we don’t pass  _ now _ then Ted won’t  _ be  _ here to get his diploma in July. He won’t  _ be  _ here to take  _ stupid _ summer school!”

“What are you talking about?”

Ted takes a trembling, gasping breath. “My dad is sending me away. If I don’t pass history…” Ted takes another breath. He’s trying not to cry and his face is turning pink. He hangs his head forward, letting his hair fall completely across his features. “He’s sending me to Oats Military Academy…. in Alaska.”

Mr. Ryan doesn’t seem to understand. “You still have time to pass, Ted.”

“Mr. Ryan, Captain Logan is sending him  _ now _ ,” Bill snaps. Mr. Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and Bill claps his mouth shut before he really gets himself in trouble.

“That’s crazy, Captain Logan’s reasonable man --”

“Not about this, Mr. Ryan. My dad and Colonel Oats are old pals. It’s sort of a no  _ if’s, and’s, or but’s _ situation.” Ted’s smile trembles on his face when he looks up. “It’s nice to know I did well, though. Thanks, Mr. Ryan.” Ted tugs Bill’s sleeve and they move quickly out of the row, toward the door, backpacks jostling noisily as they go.

“Gentlemen! Bill! Ted!”

They ignore Mr. Ryan’s calls and push through the door at the back of the auditorium and out into the blinding afternoon sun.

“Hey, Bill!” He whips around, trying to find the familiar voice in the crowd that’s still milling around and the cars trying to pull out of the lot. His dad is standing near the car, Missy lounging in the driver’s seat while he waves. “Bill!”

“Hey, Dad, you remembered.”

“Of course I did. We snuck in the back and caught the last few minutes. You guys were great.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Hey, Bill.” He seems excited, full of anticipation. “Why don’t you take these?” Bill takes a set of keys from his hands, confused. His dad jerks his thumb back over his shoulder and Bill’s heart jumps when he lays eyes on the green van parked a few spaces away.

“Dad! Dude!”

“It’s all taken care of, kid.”

“But, Dad --”

“Bill, you deserve it.”

“No I  _ don’t _ . I didn’t pass history.”

His dad turns serious for a moment, his jaw working over things that don’t quite make it out of his mouth. “Well --  _ well _ \-- what did you get on the report?”

“B-pluses, Mr. Preston,” Ted pipes in brightly.

“Guys, you put so much work into this. You were  _ so  _ focused. I can’t think of a single time I’ve ever seen the two of you so determined to do something -- not even learning how to play those damn guitars. The van is  _ yours _ , Bill. You’ll have to learn how to drive it weighted with all that equipment for the band.”

“But there isn’t gonna  _ be  _ a band, Dad.”

“Yes, there will be. You two will finish up in summer school and everything will be fine.”

“You sound like Mr. Ryan. He didn’t know what he was talking about, either.” Bill knows he sounds angry and he pulls away when his dad wraps him in an awkward hug anyway.

“Make sure you fill the tank up on your way home. We’re having pizza tonight,” he releases Bill and claps Ted on the shoulder. “Pepperoni, right?”

“Thanks, Mr. Preston.”

Bill’s dad slides into the car and Missy pokes her head out the open window as she starts it up and rolls forward. “Dinner is at six  _ on the dot _ , boys, don’t be late.” They just wave, watching Missy peel out of the lot when the crowd of students parts.

It’s bittersweet to climb into the cockpit of the van after that. They sit there in the squeaky seats, watching the last of the seniors get into their cars and abandon the school for the afternoon.

“We’ll have one last night at least, I think. There’s no way my dad found a flight all the way to Alaska this fast, even if he’s already told Oats I’m on my way.”

Bill slides the key into the ignition. He knows Ted is talking but he doesn’t hear any of it. When the engine turns over the van starts and the radio comes to life, a tape already in the cassette player booming through the speakers so that the body of the van rattles.

_ I get up! And nothin’ gets me down! You got it tough, I’ve seen the toughest around. _

“You’re not goin’ to Alaska,” Bill says through gritted teeth.

“Bill, my friend -- “

“No.  _ No _ . You’re not getting shipped off to some frozen hell. I’m not letting it happen.” Bill jams his feet against the clutch and the break and throws the van into gear. He slams down the emergency break and his feet dance across the pedals. There’s only a little bit of a grinding sound when he plants his foot against the gas and accelerates across the parking lot.

“Bill! Watch out!”

He swerves, narrowly avoiding the car pulling into the lot. He faintly registers it as familiar, barely glancing at the mirror to see Captain Logan jumping out of the car and jogging a few paces toward the van before he stops.

“Bill what are you doing?” Ted shouts, his eyes wide and his fingers gripping the door and the dashboard.

“You’re not going to Alaska!” Bill thinks Ted in a drab uniform, cut too close to his body, and boots so shiny he can see his face in the reflection. He refuses to let the picture of Ted's face, framed in a fresh flat top, fully form in his imagination.

“Bill!”

_ Might as well jump! Go ahead and jump! _

“Listen!” Everything starts clicking into place in Bill’s head as he pulls the van out onto the main street. He only fishtails a little bit and there’s no one else on the block. There’s nothing but green lights ahead. “I’ve got the cash I was gonna pay for the van with in my bag.”

“Yeah, so?” Ted looks like he’s gonna spill his guts across the windshield.

Bill’s brain starts firing lightning fast, it’s like he can see the map of California floating in the air in front of his face. He strains to remember the last place he and his dad went on vacation when he was a kid. A lightbulb pops on in his mind. “La Jolla’s like two hours away, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“We’ll hang out there until your dad comes to his senses.”

“ _ Bill _ , we can’t -- “

Bill slams on the break at a stop sign and a startled group of middle schoolers scurries across from one corner to the other. “I’m not letting your  _ fucking _ dad split us up, Ted. I’m not letting him… I’m not letting him  _ change you _ .”

Ted gulps hard and he glances at the side mirror on his door. Bill doesn’t know what he sees, if anything.

“We’ll get one of those bogus tourist motel rooms or something.”

Ted turns back with a watery smile on his face and he puts his hand over Bill’s where it's resting on the shift. He flicks his hair out of his face and nods decisively.

Bill puts his foot back on the gas and turns right onto West Covina Boulevard, headed for the Interstate.

_ Go ahead and jump! _

***

Rufus stands in front of the Three Most Important People with his head hanging low, shamed. “I’ve failed,” he says mournfully. “The Great Ones wouldn’t accept my assistance. I couldn’t stop their separation. They managed to complete their history report, but they didn’t achieve the grades they needed to pass the class.”

“Fret not, Rufus,” says the Principal Person of Import. “It appears they may have found, at least temporarily, a solution.”

Something in the air ripples and Rufus braces for the moment that he will blink out of existence.

It doesn’t happen.

The Three Most Important People laugh. "We will have to find another way to make sure Joanna and Elizabeth join the band!"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I love comments <33
> 
> [Find me here.](https://aryagreenleaf.carrd.co/)


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